The Perfect Drug
by Sullen Gurl
Summary: Warrick and Sara are addicted.


THE PERFECT DRUG

Sara looked over her shoulder and out onto the street. She had an inkling she looked suspicious standing there in front of Warrick's apartment at such an ungodly hour. But there she was. And she couldn't help but feel ashamed. There was nothing sordid about what they did, she rationalized. People did it all the time. Still, she had been standing out there a good few minutes, mustering up the courage to knock on his door. It's not like she hasn't done this a dozen other times before.

Without warning, the door swung open. It was Warrick, clad in black sweat pants that hung low around his hips, and nothing else. The sight sent Sara's pulse racing. One would think she's never seen him wearing less. Sara noticed that there wasn't even a hint of surprise on Warrick's face when he opened his door to find her there. She wondered if maybe he had been expecting her tonight after all.

"Is it a bad time," she finally asked when he said nothing, her voice huskier than usual.

The corner of Warrick's mouth curved into a smile.

"It's never a bad time," he answered, motioning for her to come in.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Sara headed straight for his bedroom, shedding off her clothes along the way, with Warrick following not far behind.

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Sara blinked against the rays of sunlight that peeked through the shades in Warrick's bedroom. She rubbed her eyes, momentarily disoriented. It was only when she tried to move, and felt her muscles protest in pain that she remembered where she was, and what she'd been doing the night before. She closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. She was suddenly aware of the heavy arm that was draped over her waist. She twisted her head to the side to sneak a peek at Warrick. He was still asleep.

This was happening way more often than she thought was healthy.

It was around four months ago when the whole night shift decided to celebrate Nick's birthday by dragging him to a nearby bar and getting him, along with everyone else, wasted. Warrick offered to take Sara home after everybody had left and she looked too tipsy to drive. When they got to her house, she invited him in to sleep over, not wanting him to drive home alone in his state. They were both in good spirits that night, and as the old adage goes, one thing led to another. They might've been slightly inebriated, but they both knew what they were doing. Warrick certainly did, Sara thought, as she remembered the night of mind-blowing sex that followed.

The morning after, Sara had awoken to find Warrick gone. They never spoke of it when they saw each other at work the following night. Sara came home, feeling confused. That continued for about week, both of them complete professionals at work - but to Sara, the tension between them was palpable. She noticed that although Warrick wasn't treating her differently in any overt way, some things had changed between them. She always used to like how he sometimes placed a hand at the small of her back when they walked, or briefly touched her arm, even if none of those things really meant anything. But now, it was as if Warrick took great pains not to have any physical contact with her at work. But those were things that only Sara noticed, because to the world, nothing happened between them.

One night, a week after that first time they slept together, Warrick knocked on her door. Sara felt relieved, thinking that they were finally going to sit down, talk, and clear the air. But not a word was exchanged between them that night. When she opened the door and saw the look of need on his face, talking became the furthest thing from her mind. Mere seconds later, she was caught in a frenzy of clothes coming off. All she remembered from that night was experiencing sensory overload, and the unimaginable pleasure that came after.

And then it happened again a week later. And the week after that. Until it started happening more frequently, and they would see each other as often as thrice a week. Sometimes it would be Warrick who came over, other times it would be Sara - like last night.

Sara gently lifted Warrick's arm and scooted to the edge of the bed. She sat up and surveyed his room, assessing the damage. Their clothes were strewn all over the place. Her gaze fell on the desk in the corner of his room, and she blushed to her roots, as a mental image of what they did on it last night popped in her head.

She turned away and sighed deeply, staring at his still sleeping form. This was the part she hated - the morning after. One of them always woke up earlier than the other, and whoever woke up first dressed and got out quietly. And they would never talk about it or show any indication that their relationship had an added element. No one had a clue.

Fuck buddies, Sara thought. That's what they had become.

She cringed. It wasn't like her to be crude, but how else could she describe their relationship? And what is she thinking? It wasn't even like her to jump into bed with a man she didn't have a romantic relationship with. She didn't classify what she had with Warrick as romantic. At least not in the widely understood definition of that term. But sometimes, Sara would wonder….

She shook her head, pushing those thought away. She got to her feet, and dressed as quietly as possible.

They should talk about this, she decided.

By the time she left Warrick's house, he was still sound asleep.

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The following week had passed uneventfully. It's been 5 days since she went over to Warrick's. Work was work. Weirdly, as soon as they started having sex, the awkwardness she felt around him, at the lab or in the field after that first time, disappeared. It was as if by finally acting on the physical attraction between them, they were able to get it out of the way, and concentrate better on work. Sara couldn't explain it either, but somehow, they were able to draw a line between their relationship as co-workers and their relationship as… well, she wasn't going to say it again.

But she's been thinking things through, and she came to the conclusion that it had to stop. She wanted things back to the way they were - uncomplicated and platonic. Sure, they used to flirt with each other, but that was all harmless. But a small part of Sara pointed out that it didn't have to be complicated. After all, Warrick didn't seem to have a problem with the arrangement. However, the logical part of Sara insisted that it was for the best that they talk about this, whatever it was, once and for all. Clearly, this couldn't go on without affecting their professional lives. And she wasn't about to risk her career as CSI for sex, however amazing sex that may be.

Worse, it was becoming a problem for her. Warrick was like the perfect drug. And she was a junkie who swore that each hit was going to be her last.

The next time he comes over, she told herself, Warrick and I will talk.

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Sara was getting ready for bed. She was buttoning her pajama top when she heard a knock on her door. The clock read 4:15 am. It could only be Warrick. All of a sudden, the fatigue she was feeling earlier after tonight's shift was starting to wear off. She skipped the pajama bottoms and headed for the door, checking to make sure her top was long enough to reach halfway down her thighs. Taking a deep breath, she swung the door open and saw Warrick leaning against the doorframe.

His gaze held hers for a moment before drifting down towards her bare legs. It was with a knowing look that he raised his eyes to meet hers again.

"You busy?" Warrick asked, his usually light green eyes now a dark, dark emerald. Sara knew that look well. Hell, it was probably the same one she had on when she came over.

"Not anymore," she answered softly, reaching for his hand and pulling him inside.

Not a second after the door slammed shut, she was whipped around and pressed hard against the door. It was like a switch had been flicked, and they were all over each other.

"You always answer the door like this?" Warrick rasped, lifting her by her thighs and helping her wrap her legs around his hips.

"Not always," she mumbled in between his bruising kisses, as she fumbled with his belt buckle. "Only for you."

Those were the last intelligible words either one of them could utter for a while, as soft moans and gasps filled Sara's apartment. Her earlier rationalizations quickly forgotten, all she could process at that moment were Warrick's hands, lips, teeth and tongue on her body.

Later, she hazily swore to herself as she clutched at Warrick's shoulders, letting him do heavenly things to her.

We'll talk later.

THE END

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